Гроздья гнева
Chapter 20
Tomsquatteddownbesidethecarandsquintedhiseyesupthelineoftents.Alittlestubblewasbeatenintotheearthbetweenthetents.«No,sir,"hesaid,«Maain’tgonnalikeyougoin’off.»
«Well,seemstomealonefellagotmorechanceofwork.»
«Maybe,butMaain’tgonnalikeitatall.»
Twocarsloadedwithdisconsolatemendrovedownintothecamp.
Floydliftedhiseyes,buthedidn’taskthemabouttheirluck.Theirdustyfacesweresadandresistant.Thesunwassinkingnow,andtheyellowsunlightfellontheHoovervilleandonthewillowsbehindit.Thechildrenbegantocomeoutofthetents,towanderaboutthecamp.Andfromthetentsthewomencameandbuilttheirlittlefires.Themengatheredinsquattinggroupsandtalkedtogether.
AnewChevroletcoupeturnedoffthehighwayandheadeddownintothecamp.Itpulledtothecenterofthecamp,Tomsaid,«Who’sthis?Theydon’tbelonghere.»
Floydsaid,«Idunno—cops,maybe.»
Thecardooropenedandamangotoutandstoodbesidethecar.Hiscompanionremainedseated.Nowallthesquattingmenlookedatthenewcomersandtheconversationwasstill.Andthewomenbuildingtheirfireslookedsecretlyattheshinycar.Thechildrenmovedcloserwithelaboratecircuitousness,edginginwardinlongcurves.
Floydputdownhiswrench.Tomstoodup.Alwipedhishandonhistrousers.ThethreestrolledtowardtheChevrolet.Themanwhohadgotoutofthecarwasdressedinkhakitrousersandaflannelshirt.Heworeaflat-brimmedStetsonhat.
